Dragon Fever
by x0chu0x
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield was sick with Dragon Fever way before he set foot in the Lonely Mountain's treasure hall. Three Shot
1. Chapter 1

Dragon Fever

Summary : Thorin Oakenshield was sick with Dragon Fever way before he set foot in the Lonely Mountain's treasure hall.

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Some said that the fever Thorin contracted after the fall of Erebor was due to the dragon. That when he went back to save his brother, he had come too close to the beast's fire, hence the strange blue flames that were present behind his eyes when he finally woke up.

Thorin didn't really care for the rumours and ignored them as graciously as he could at the time. Because he knew that it wasn't the truth. He hadn't just gotten close to it. He had felt it. Felt it licking his skin and burning his hair. He had smelled it on the torched bodies of his kin. He had heard it in their screams and tasted it in the ashes but mostly he had seen it in its eyes. Because when he had gone back for Frerin, the beast had been there and their gazes had locked. Thorin would remember until his last breath the fever in them: a dark mix of gold lust, fire and death. And then, the dragon had let him go. It had turned around and taken to the treasure hall, as though indifferent to his struggle to get his unconscious brother out of the burning infernal.

So, no, Thorin didn't think the rumours got it right but he didn't believe that they needed to be corrected either. As it was, some were already rather envious of the lack of loss within the Durin's line.

And it was true that they had escaped without losing as much as some and he thank Mahal every morning for his mercy, especially when his eyes crossed Balin's who had lost his wife and son to the dragon. The beast had spared them and he could not ask for more he convinced himself as he organised the caravans to the Iron Hills and the Blue Mountains with his grandfather and father.

Still when his grandfather and his brother got killed during the battle for the Moria, he found out that, against all logic, it was not the filthy orcs that had taken them, he hated the most – though the despite he held for them still kept bards singing for years. No. It was the dragon. Because, no matter what he had told himself, it was the dragon's fault. All of it. His golden brother would never have had to fight such battles had the vile thing not come. So when he rallied the last remains of their army and charged into the ranks of the orcs, it was thoughts of Smaug that made his eyes alive with blue fire and kept his arm striking down enemies and sent fleeing the ones that met his feverish gaze.

This was how his deep all-consuming hate for the dragon flickered to life.

He led what little dwarves had survived the battle to the Blue Mountains where his sister had taken the rest of their people and there his house built a new home for them. Still, not even the snows and ices of the Blue Mountains managed to cool down his anger toward Smaug.

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	2. Chapter 2

Dragon Fever

Summary : Thorin Oakenshield was sick with Dragon Fever way before he set foot in the Lonely Mountain's treasure hall.

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It felt like he was always burning with something these days. May it be pride, hope, fear or anger, Thorin's emotions were never the cool embers they used to be, they now consumed everything else when they aroused: logic, empathy, manners. He knew it. Dis thought he didn't but he did. And that, in turn made him almost feverish with some potent mix of shame and anger because, all through his childhood, his father and grandfather – when he was still whole – had taken great pain in instilling control in him. After all, a king couldn't wear his emotions on his face as random civilians could. Every twitch of a face meant something in court. Every decision or move had to be carefully planned and couldn't be made because of a fancy for some lives depended on them. And he had clung to their education like a child to his mother's skirts.

When they lost Erebor to the worm, he should have held it even closer to his heart. He wanted to. With all his heart. Yet, it seemed that Smaug's fire could do more than just turn kingdoms to ashes. It could also get into one's soul and like a scorching parasite, little by little devour it. He had not felt it as strongly at first but as time passed, his emotions got more and more out of hand and he struggled more and more to maintain the control he was expected to show as a leader. Until it got to the point he was now. He hadn't wanted the fool beast to take away what remained of his grandfather so easily and had resolved to cling to it even more desperately than before. Like a drowning man to a lifeline in turbulent waters. But it didn't stop the flames in his soul from raging on and burning away things that used to be precious to him. His quick bursts of anger were always followed by the all-consuming fear that the parasite was gaining ground. To have people taking notice of his failing felt like having a white-hot knife pushed through his chest.

But he was determined not to let it finish its job.

Many rumours about dwarves spread by outsiders were wrong. Many but not all. Stubbornness was indeed a natural trait – good or bad – of their race. So, setting their mind on a task for dwarves meant either achieving it or die trying to. And, dwarves did favoured forging over many other manual works. As such fire to a dwarf was only meant to be a tool to make things sharper or more beautiful.

If he couldn't snuff it out, Thorin would use Smaug's vile flame. He would feed it with all his hope, all his shame, all his anger, all his fear, letting it become stronger and most importantly, he would redirect it, making it the tool it should never have stopped being. With it, he would forge the deadliest weapon any Elf, Man, Dwarf or Wizard ever beheld and he would wield it to destroy Smaug. No matter how strong the dragon fire burned, Thorin's would burn brighter and hotter for fire needed fuel, and as long as the beast drew breath, Thorin had an unlimited source of at least one emotion that he used as such. He would make the worm curse the day he thought he could banish and destroy any heir of Durin.

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	3. Chapter 3

Dragon Fever

Summary : Thorin Oakenshield was sick with Dragon Fever way before he set foot in the Lonely Mountain's treasure hall.

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Throughout his life, Thorin had fought against dragon fire in more ways than just one. Still, nothing could have prepared him for the burning in his mind when his feet sunk into the piles of riches of Erebor. It was no sudden scorching like the actual real flame he had face on the day the mountain fell, it wasn't either the slowly growing flames spreading into the soul he had learned to live with while in exile. No. It was more like the heat of a forge blurring the edge of one's vision and making the focus stray. He felt himself become sluggish just by looking at the glittering gold and he cursed the dragon to Mordor and back. That was not why he had pushed himself and his companions through this journey.

Thorin refused to let the dirty beast and his lingering madness ruin all their work. They had made it this far, through pain, hunger, tears and blood. They deserved these halls back. Thorin didn't have to think hard to find something that he knew could help him fight away the Gold Sickness – he had had to help his grandfather take his mind off gold when he was younger after all, when the simple utterance of the word coin could send the old dwarf into a heated frenzy. Thorin knew he had to be fast, as his focus was already slipping and so, he picked his shield: the Arkenstone. He turned every single one of his thoughts to it, to the mesmerizing way he remembered it seemed to produce light, to its shape, its weight and threw himself in a careful and meticulous hunt for the jewel.

He grew more and more worried as hours passed without him catching sight of its glow. He had to find it. He had to, he sung heatedly in his mind, or their whole journey would have been pointless. It was their salvation. As soon as he had it in his hand, he would be able to clear his mind and the fire growing behind his eyes would lessen.

When people arrived in front of the gates informing them that Smaug had been defeated, he only gave curt congratulations. He knew that alive or not, the dragon was still a threat, there was a bed of gold in his treasure hall driving his loyal companions mad to prove it. As he feared, the messengers asked for compensation. The Dragon Sickness had spread even outside of Erebor. But he would not let it.

He refused to partake from any piece of gold and if the messengers' naivety made them think that it was because he wanted it for himself, it wasn't his problem. They would thank him later for his so call 'lack of generosity'. He quickly asked Balin to send a call for help to his cousin Dain before returning to his search which renewed determination. It quickly changed into a desperate and frantic one. His head was burning painfully. His nephews were watching him with big scared eyes like they did when they were nothing but dwarflings, doubtlessly pleading him to hurry and bring back their friends to reason but no matter how hard he searched, the stone eluded him.

Then the messengers got back and he learned that the Halfling had had it in his greedy hands all along, he could have given it to him and saved the others and still, he had chosen to offer it to the mad men. All-consuming rage boiled trough him. He would have thrown the little fool from the top of the gate had Gandalf not taken his defence. He owed the wizard too much to refuse him that one favour, no matter how undeserving the one benefiting from it was.

From then on, everything became a blur. The threats, the wait for Dain, a large part of the battle that took place at his gates, even their own charge to help the defending armies. However, the strange heated sort of confusion he had found himself in came to a brutal screeching stop when Kili fell, his side opened by a black twisted blade that he knew had been for him. He watched as his youngest the body of his nephew – almost his son – was quickly stepped upon by orcs and goblins trying to get to him.

There and then, he knew that he would not let himself live in the halls of Erebor again. He had told Kili too much about it for him to make a home there without the boy. He had lived too long, and had let the dragon's fire too deep into his soul for him to have deserved such a sacrifice. He started fighting again slowly, as though all his years and past mistakes were suddenly weighing down on his limbs. And then, Fili pushed him to the side and an arrow struck the boy in the neck.

This time, Thorin roared in anger. This time, he chose to dig deep into his broken soul and for the first time since Erebor had fallen, on his own volition, he pulled out the dragon's fire and let it scorch its way through his body.

It took a spear, right through his side for him to stop slaughtering orcs. And while there were still many more, he fell down knowing that the world was at least thirty child-killing monsters lighter.

Apologising to Bilbo after he woke up, unburdened his mind more than he thought possible but what unburdened his soul, were the little hobbit's tears. He probably didn't deserve such a gentle creature's cries but he accepted them nonetheless for the water drops extinguished the cursed fire that had burned in him for decades to the point that when he breathed out for the last time, Thorin Oakenshield knew he had just been healed from Dragon Fever.

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**Aaaaand, that's it !** I know it's short but if you have time, I would really appreciate a comment or two, just to have your opinion (I really want to improve so don't hold back).

Thanks for reading !


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